Dead Frontier/Issue 117
This is for Issue #117 of Dead Frontier, titled Lost in My Mind. ''This is the third issue of '''Volume 20. ' Issue 117 - Lost in My Mind Two weeks pass, and there’s almost an accusatory mood amongst everyone; they know Dre’s death wasn’t just an accident. The circumstances are too improbable. The possibility of an actual murderer is too much to handle for most, so no one brings it up. But everyone thinks it, sneaking in suspicious glances whenever they can and keeping a careful eye over their shoulder. Another house has become their most recent destination, and a sign from yesterday alerted them they’re now somewhere in Nebraska, presumably the west end. It’s more progress toward LA, and it’s the only thing keeping any of them going now. The house resides in a wealthy suburban area, around two stories high, and from the outside, it looks as if the apocalypse hasn’t touched it at all. The inside is, surprisingly, just as nice, with all the furniture intact and the walls only covered with dust and peeling paint. Not an infected in sight, not any pictures to determine who lived here. Must’ve fled early. As everyone else brings in their belongings from the truck, the unusually sharp pain in his knee leads Cole to observe the house on his own, picking out whatever room he wants for the day or two they stay here. He walks to the end of the hall, pushes open a door that sits ajar, and enters a bedroom. He pulls the one bag he has off his back, and tosses it onto the greying mattress in the center of the room. The walls are a dark red, a bookcase lies against one wall and a dresser on the other. There’s even a TV, and the screen is cracked terribly. He sits on the bed, tests out how it feels, and determines he probably won't get that great of a sleep tonight. He can't totally blame that on the mattress, though, and his thoughts have turned to more serious matters. He doesn't know what to think about Lucy. He convinced himself he trusted her--and he knows Dean is just saying whatever he can to twist his head--but he can't help but doubt her. He never forgot about what she did, either. But he forgave her, and now those feelings of uncertainty are rising again, which he attributes to the fact that everyone is so on edge, and they're all just pulling at straws for someone to blame. That's all he's doing: pulling at straws, searching for any possible answer to all this stealing food madness. And he resorted to actually accusing Lucy, of all people. He sighs, annoyed with himself. He's not really doing a good job of changing that negative opinion of himself now. But does Dean have a point? She’s not entirely innocent. He never thought about the possibility of her using his grief against him, but now, it makes so much sense. And suddenly, he feels absolutely betrayed. When he met her, he wasn’t at all looking for anything serious. She was just a beautiful, charming girl that happened to show some interest in him--but he was still in mourning. But he needed some kind of reassurance and support...and she was there. He poured his heart out to her, told her things he’d never told anyone before, because she was the only one willing to listen, although he’d known her for just a few weeks. And now he wonders if she even cared back then, or if it was all just pretense to get him to build his trust for her so she could stab him in the back anyway. He suddenly feels repulsed, mostly at his own thoughts. She isn’t the same girl she was a year ago; she learned from her mistake and wouldn’t do anything to mess with his mind like that again. Would she? Or would she just as easily lie to him again, tell him she hasn’t been the one stealing, and go ahead and do it anyway? No. He can’t let himself think like that. He’s made just as terrible mistakes, and she’s wholly forgiven him--why can’t he do the same? Something--''something''--is nagging at him. Something isn’t right. ---- “Nice choice,” Lucy says, walking into the bedroom and giving it a close inspection. She looks through the drawers and sees that there are a few clothes, but other than that, nothing that’ll be of use to them. “Thanks,” he says. “Bed’s pretty nice, too.” “Funny. But I’ve gotta go soon. Gonna go get ready now, actually.” “Wait,” he says before she can disappear out the door. “You’re...going on the run today?” “Yeah. I took Lienne’s place.” “You’ve been on every single one in two weeks. Maybe take a break. “I’m just trying to give myself something to do. I’m tired of--sitting here, I’m driving myself crazy.” He takes a few seconds to look at her quizzically. She’s never had this mindset before, and she’s certainly never offered to take someone’s place on a run. “Is this about Dean?” he blurts out. He’s been wondering this for two weeks, and finally, he can’t hold it in any longer. He swallows hard at her hesitation. “Is what about Dean?” she asks. “All of this avoidance shit. I’m not dumb. You’re...you’re separating yourself from me, for some reason. I don’t get it.” “I’m not avoiding you, Cole.” “Okay,” he says, standing from the bed. “Then you won’t mind if I come with?” “What do you mean?” “On the supply run. I’m coming with you.” Involuntarily, her eyes shift down to his cane, and he responds with a shrug. “All I’ve gotta do is...take shit from shelves and put it in a bag.” “This...is such a bad idea.” “Just doing my part to contribute,” he says with a sly raise of his eyebrows, and he walks past her and out the door. ---- Although it wasn't requested, Lienne does another check of all their bags in the house's overly large kitchen. The food looks intact this time--based on her count, nothing's missing. But when she transitions to the medicine, it's more than obvious the stash has been tampered with. A good amount of their aspirin is gone, and the ibuprofen she needed for Dre is still nowhere in sight. "What the fuck?" she mutters, and she angrily zips up the bag and sets it back on the counter. She has absolutely no idea what's going on. Food missing is one thing: maybe someone got a little hungry and took some extra. But medicine? What's the motive behind that? She assumes it's just malicious intent. Whoever it is gets a kick out of seeing them suffer, and that possibility angers her the most. They're supposed to stick together, support each other, not enjoy seeing one another squirm. She jumps when she hears the kitchen door open. She sees Cedric enter with a curious expression, and he rips off a piece of his granola bar and pops it into his mouth. "A little jumpy there," he says. "Try not to come in like a madman," she suggests, then moves a few strands of hair out of her face. She doesn’t like the smug grin on his face, and she gives him a frown in return. “My bad,” he says. “Interesting stuff in those bags?” “I was just doing another count. More stuff’s missing.” “Ah. The mystery continues. Alright.” There’s a short pause. “Do you need something?” “Not really, but now that I came in here, seeing someone...rifling through the supplies, I’ve got a few questions.” “Oh, come on. Really? Like you have the right to accuse me of anything.” “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks. “I’m a part of this group, too, now. Maybe I haven’t been involved as long as you, but I still ain’t happy about someone in here stealing shit.” “And I’m not happy about a guy who’s been here for two fucking weeks calling me a traitor,” she spews harshly, but immediately regrets it. He’s got a point; they took him in willingly, and he must not feel to good joining a group where no one trusts each other and the next person you talk to could stab you in the back--literally. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He chuckles at her. “It’s cool. You look too innocent to be a murderer anyway,” he says. “You’d be surprised.” He pauses his chewing and stares at her. “I’m kidding.” “Good. Thought I was next for a minute there.” She smiles at him, suddenly feeling a little less hostile. “I’ve got a question for you, Ced,” she says, moving a few steps from the counter. He raises his eyebrows, giving her permission to continue on. “Why is it that no one knows anything about you?” “You accusing me now?” he asks, pointing to his chest. “‘Course not. This shit’s been going on before you got here. I’m just curious. You’re a quiet guy, no one really knows anything about you. I even talked to Hunter; he said he never really heard of you back in New York. Pretty mysterious guy.” “Oh. Yeah, you could say that, I guess. We’ve all got stories. Not really in a hurry to tell mine,” he says, chewing down on the last of the granola bar. “Not important, anyway.” “Everyone’s story is important.” “Not mine. But hey, if I feel like telling it one day, you’ll be the first to know it.” He gives her a small grin and turns, right back out the door. ---- All the volunteers for the supply run--Cole, Lucy, Daniel, Duke, Farrah, Adam, and Chloe--head out a little later, around late afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, comically contrasting totheir negative moods, but they appreciate for what it's worth. Always nice to see the sun out sometimes, even when you’re having a shitty day. “Daniel!” Tora calls, jogging out the front door. Daniel turns, halting his approach to the truck, a backpack strapped to his shoulders, and he smiles when he sees her. “Hey. Didn’t think you were going,” he says. “I’m not. Still sitting this one out.” “Alright. What d’you need?” He uses his hand to shield his eyes from the burning sun. “It’s your first run; just wanted to wish you good luck.” His smile widens. “Oh. Well, I appreciate that--” She cuts him off by planting a kiss on his lips, and he nearly stumbles backwards in surprise. “Whoa,” he says when they finally break, and he has a goofy smile on his face. “Jeez.” “Good luck,” she says, and she gives him a punch on the shoulder. He scratches his head as she turns and walks back to the house. Well, that was nice. ---- They’re all stuffed in one car to save gas and Duke, as usual, has offered to drive. “So, I got a question,” Duke says, breaking the silence. He reaches his hand over to the radio and turns down the music from one of the CDs they found in the house. “For Adam and Chloe.” “Oh, God,” Adam groans. “What is it?” Duke looks at him in the rearview mirror, unable to suppress his grin. “You guys a thing now? Or you just--fucking?” There are a few laughs, and Adam rolls his eyes while Chloe gives him a sheepish grin. “Damn, bro, if you weren’t so damn black you’d be blushing like a motherfucker, wouldn’t you?” Duke adds. “It’s...it’s a thing, I guess,” Chloe says. “Aren’t you a little old for him?” “Old?” “You’re like...thirties, right?” “I’m 29, Duke.” “Close enough. And him--he’s like, 24?” “Yeah,” Adam says. “Five years. Not too bad. Just as long as everything works down there, right?” “Holy shit, stop. Please. Adam turns his head to look out the window, but he can’t help but smirk, although he’s thoroughly embarrassed. “Okay, we’re here. I’ll stop fucking with you now, man,” Duke says, and he stops the car in front of a large supermarket, the faded and cracked sign advertising it as “Jimmy’s Grocery.” ---- “Why do you pick on him so much?” Farrah asks as she walks alongside Duke. He takes a glance at her. “Who? Adam?” he asks. She nods. “Ah...he’s just so fun to fuck with. It’s all good-natured, don’t worry about it.” “Seems like your leader shouldn’t be the butt of your jokes.” “Nah, no one’s safe. I’ll make fun of anybody, I don’t give a fuck. Like look at Cole--that fucker stumbles so much I can’t tell the difference between him and a toddler. Uh...Lienne wouldn’t look at a penis if her life depended on it--” Farrah cuts him off with a laugh, and he grins at her. “C’mon, you don’t have to be so mean.” “It’s all jokes. They all know me. I love ‘em all anyway, so its cool,” he says. “What about me? What’ve you got to say?” “Oh, shit...you really want me to go there?” he asks, and she shrugs. “Damn, okay…” He pauses; honestly, he has tons of remarks he can make right now, but he’s not about to fuck it up with her. “How the hell am I supposed to make fun of a model? Come on, now.” “If your life depended on it.” “Girl, I’m telling you--I got nothin’.” She stops and turns to him, a crooked smile on her face. “You’re good. Really good,” she says. “What?” he says, feigning confusion. “You’ve got something to say about me.” “Seriously, I don’t.” “All that bullshit Hunter says, and you don’t have one thing?” “Alright, you sleep around. What the hell’s wrong with that, though? Shit, I’d do it. You’re a grown-ass woman, you’ve got every right to.” “That’s what I try telling people. End of the fucking world and I can’t do what I want? I still get judged for it? It’s...bullshit,” she says. “Damn…” he mumbles. He has the overwhelming urge to kiss her right now, but remembers Hunter’s remark in the car, about her uncle, and suddenly retracts. As much as she might not believe it, she’s broken inside; and he’s not about to prod, but he knows he shouldn’t take advantage of it. But he tells himself, maybe a one time thing won’t be so bad, but something holds him back again. Then, saving him from his thoughts and a possible mistake, he hears a groan from behind her. She turns her head and he lets out a small sigh. “Got it,” he says. He pulls his hatchet from his side and slowly approaches the shelf behind her. He turns the corner, sees the rotting infected standing with an almost confused expression that quickly shifts to eagerness at the sight of Duke. Without hesitation, he swings his arm in a wide arc and smashes the blade into its head; he pulls it out easily and watches it slump to the ground. “Come on,” he says to Farrah, and for some reason, he doesn’t want to turn to look at her. ---- Jake and Ivy sit cross-legged on the living room carpet, playing cards laid out in front of them. They sit there stone-faced and bored, the monotony of the day absolutely dreadful. “Why the hell are we p-playing this?” he asks, setting his cards down. “What do you wanna do, then?” she asks. “Oh. That’s right. There is nothing else to do.” “Aw, come on, you sad sacks,” Dean says, walking over to them. The statement sounds forced, and he sits on the couch nearest them almost uncomfortably. “Cards isn’t that bad.” “Yeah, it is. You try and play, see how fast you fall asleep,” Ivy says, and Dean plasters on a fake smile. He’s unsure if she still loathes him; he’s avoided her for so long, mostly out of feelings of guilt, that he was never able to find out. “Let’s go, Ivy,” Jake says, and he stands. “Wait, where are you going?” Dean asks, standing. “I just got here, bud.” “Don’t call me b-bud,” he says harshly, turning on him. “I’m not your friend, okay?” “Whoa, the hell did I ever do to you?” Jakes ignores him and walks away. Ivy hesitates and looks at Dean sadly, but eventually follows. Jake is unable to hide his hate for Dean; he doesn’t trust the guy, and he’s almost certain he’s the thief. He’d rather avoid him, and Dean’s recent forced efforts to connect with him have just pissed him off more. “That was mean,” Ivy says, following Jake up the stairs. “H-he’s an asshole,” Jake says. “He’s not that bad.” “Really?” He stops on the stairs and turns to face her. “Yeah. He’s...okay. Everyone hates him. I feel bad for him.” Jake looks at her in disbelief; he’s so stunned, his mouth hangs open slightly. “Seriously? Your mom’s d-dead because of him, Ivy, and you’re over here d-defending him?” “My mom’s not dead,” she says defensively. “And Dean saved my life. So I forgive him, okay?” “You’re mom was l-left in a building full of infected. C’mon…” “So what? You didn’t see anything, so you don’t know anything.” He actually didn’t think she was serious. “You’re...actually h-hoping she’s alive?” “Yeah...why? Why wouldn’t I?” He gulps, a wave of pity suddenly washing over him. He wants to tell her the most probable option--her mother's likely death--but her eyes are already tearing up, so he decides against it. “Okay. No r-reason you shouldn’t,” he lies. ---- “So...why didn't the skeleton go to the party?” Cole asks as he and Lucy walk side by side through an empty aisle. She walks with her arms crossed, a pistol holstered at her side, and slows her pace to match his. He forces himself not to wince with every step; even with the cane, his knee has been irritating him more than usual lately, but he keeps the pain hidden. “Is this a joke?” she asks. “Yeah.” “Okay. Because...he’s dead, and dead people don’t go to parties.” “No.” “Because...he has no friends,” she says. “No--''no''. It’s a joke, it’s not supposed to be depressing. Jesus,” he says with a small chuckle. “Then I don’t know.” “He...had nobody to go with.” She pauses. “I don’t get it,” she says. “Really? No...body. As in, like, he doesn’t have a body. Then nobody to go with, so he was alone.” “But he does have a body.” “No, he doesn’t. He’s a skeleton.” “He doesn’t have any skin or organs. But technically, he has a body.” He laughs. “Let me just--start over. New joke,” he says, and they turn into another aisle. But, as he takes a step with his right leg, he feels a sharp pain radiate from his knee. He stops and lets out a groan, gritting his teeth. She puts a hand on his arm to steady him. “You okay?” she asks, and even through the pain, he’s happy to hear some concern in her voice. “Yeah...I’m alright.” “Do you need a break?” What pathetic person has to take walking breaks? he thinks to himself. He hesitates before responding, then says a reluctant, “Sure. Yeah.” He doesn’t want to try and sit, knowing it’ll aggrevate his knee even more, so he just leans his shoulder against a nearby shelf. She does the same, leaning against a wall across from him. “I told you not to come,” she says. He looks down and scratches his head. “I know...I was just worried.” “About what?” “That you’re trying to...separate yourself from me or something. I don’t know, it’s stupid, but you’re always off, doing something all the time now. Ever since Dean and all his bullshit. Am I wrong?” She hesitates and crosses her arms. “Everyone knows what he said about me. You do, too.” “What’s that have to do with--” “I know you don’t trust me,” she says suddenly, cutting him off. “Who said that?” “No one. No one had to.” “Lucy, that’s not true--” “It is. You know it is, at least a little bit. And...I don’t blame you.” He sighs. “And that’s why you’re avoiding me? Because you think I don’t trust you anymore?” She lifts her shoulders, expecting him to come to his own conclusion. “Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. What he told me...it--it put some thoughts into my head. And I doubted you for a second--I did. Then I’ve been thinking back on it all day, and I feel...terrible for it--for accusing you at all. But you know Dean. He’s so fucking slimy; he says shit in a way that makes you...it makes you think.” Relief washes over her, making her expression more relaxed. And then, she turns more serious again. She never did find out what he and Dean were arguing about. “What’d he say to you?” she asks. He freezes, opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He finds it hard to breathe suddenly, so he inhales deeply. “He said...he said a lot,” Cole says. “I--I’ve got a lot to make up for. Let’s just say he reminded me of that.” She nods simply, and decides she might never get a detailed response out of him. He averts his eyes from hers suddenly, but before he can look away completely, she can see they’re steadily filling with tears. On impulse, she gives him a kiss. When she pulls away after a few seconds, he opens his eyes and he smiles; it’s a smile so small it’s barely detectable, but it says a lot more than he could with words. Reassurance, warmth, gratefulness--all readily apparent in just one grin. Lucy can’t help but reciprocate it. But, her joyful expression falls quickly, replaced with pure fear and trepidation. Her eyes leave his, looking behind him instead. He feels his heart drop. “What--” he starts. “Cole!” she finally shouts, and he turns, now face to face with a hulking, dark-skinned man, a scar slashed across his face. Cole has no time to react; he feels something blunt collide with his jaw. He falls onto his back, then groans as he rolls onto his side. His vision blurs as he hears a scream; he mutters something unintelligible when he sees Lucy’s body hit the floor just a few feet away. Category:Dead Frontier Category:Dead Frontier Issues Category:Issues Category:Walkerbait22's Stories